Thursday, April 30, 2009

click photo to enlargeShadows and reflections figure fairly heavily in my photography. I value them for their ability to contribute contrast, complexity, repetition and drama to things that are otherwise quite simple. They have the capacity to make the mundane look striking.

Yesterday, as I was shopping in Peterborough, I stood in a pedestrianised street in the shade of some plane trees. The spring sun was making dappled patterns on the block paving and people were sitting on the conveniently placed benches, enjoying the warmth and brightness. This particular British city is noted for the provisions it makes for cyclists, so bike parking facilities of one sort or another are very commonly found across its centre. At this particular location the landscape designers had settled on metal tubing bent into undulating lines as the parking solution and they caught my eye as a possible subject for a semi-abstract shot. But, many were in use with machines of every conceivable shape size and colour fixed to them. However, as I stood waiting a cyclist came along and removed his bike from one that was nearby, and pedalled away leaving it free to cast an inverted shadow of its shape across the ground.

"He who hesitates is lost", they say, so before anyone else could claim the bike stand for its legitimate purpose I stepped smartly across and took a couple of shots of it, before continuing with the shopping. This particular example, in portrait format, with a slight angle across the frame, is the best of the crop. Not a "Wow!" shot, but not without some pleasing qualities I think. However, without the shadow that doubles up the impact of the main subject, and contributes a little intrigue, it would amount to much less, and I wouldn't have thought of posting it.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

click photo to enlarge
Rites of passage mark our journey through life. The first day at school, moving away from home, the award of qualifications, starting our first paid work, marriage, retirement - the trajectory of our life is punctuated by significant events of this kind. Members of religions additionally experience ceremonies that mark their acceptance and growth within the faith. For Christians one of the most significant events is baptism. This act usually involves water that represents the washing away of sin, and recalls the Bible story of John the Baptist and Christ in the River Jordan. Often a small, symbolic amount of water is splashed on the recipient by the priest. However, some sects, notably Baptists, practise complete immersion in water. I recall once seeing a group of people being baptised in the sea at Fleetwood, Lancashire: a cold and wet experience! Some early Baptist churches had much more convenient, purpose-built outdoor baptisteries (fonts) where people could be immersed as they were received into the faith. In England only two of these remain, and I stumbled upon one of them recently at Monksthorpe Baptist Chapel, Lincolnshire.

This single room chapel, shown on the left above, is out in the countryside, down a grassy track and an avenue of trees near a farm. The remote location was necessary because of the periodic persecution that "non-conformist" religions experienced at the time. It was built in 1701 and once again holds services after falling out of use for a period during the 1970s. The whole site comprises the church, a block containing stables and a caretaker's house (on the right), the outdoor baptistery (in the foreground, last used in 1962), and a graveyard. It is now in the care of the National Trust, and the stable/house block is currently undergoing restoration.

I visit a lot of old churches during my travels, and every now and then I come upon a building that seems to transport me back into the past. Monksthorpe, despite being relatively recent as English churches go, has that effect. Even though it has been restored and altered over the centuries (the thatched roof is gone) none of the newer work has altered its essential simplicity or character. After seeing the chapel I was motivated to return again the following day to once again imbibe its atmosphere. The photograph above was taken on my first visit by bicycle - you can see our bikes leaning against the building - and I tried to take a shot that encompassed all the main elements of the site, including that (almost) unique brick baptistery.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

click photo to enlargeKite buggies shouldn't be a problem. The coast of the British Isles has many large areas of flat sand that should be able to be used by different interest groups without conflict, and, by and large that is the case. However, the growing popularity of these wind-powered leisure vehicles, particularly their use in areas heavily frequented by the general public, has provoked increasing numbers of complaints about dangerous, high speed driving. This has led to some local authorities placing restrictions on the areas and times when they can be used, or in some cases (for example Lytham St Annes) outright bans.

When kites were harnessed to surf boards problems of this sort rarely arose because the area of sea available for kite-boarding is vast, and the number of other users of the water, in most places, is few. However, buggy riders have been their own worst enemies by too often choosing to pursue their sport on busy beaches used by day-trippers, dog walkers, fishermen and others. The national and local organizations that support the sport seem to realise the need for compromise, and make every effort to urge riders to use less frequented areas. However, newcomers to the pastime, and individuals who crave an audience for their tricks, seem heedless. I've come across buggies being erratically driven at speeds up to 40 mph on Fleetwood beach in Lancashire, throwing up showers of shingle with every hard turn, and making walkers wonder whether they were going to be mown down.

The other day, on the Lincolnshire coast at Skegness, I saw this lone buggy zipping up and down the beach . It was well-controlled, had the sands virtually to itself, and made an interesting sight as the driver coaxed power out of the onshore breeze. On a warmer day in summer, when the visitors from England's Midlands throng the beach, it would probably be better elsewhere. However, in the spring sunshine the buggy was doing no harm and made a good foreground subject for this photographer who was able to frame it in front of the offshore wind farm he was snapping.

Monday, April 27, 2009

click photos to enlargeThe place-names of England offer endless fascination and not a little fun. I was raised in the Yorkshire Dales market town of Settle, a place with a name that has the distinction of being a settlement, a verb and a noun. Across the River Ribble from Settle is the unlikely sounding village of Giggleswick, a word that the comedian, Tony Hancock, found humorous enough to use in his act. A couple of miles down the valley is the equally strange Wigglesworth. As a child I was intrigued by the names of some farms not too far from my home-town, one called Israel and another Rome, presumably founded by people of a strong religious persuasion. But how, I wondered, did the adjacent farms of Higher Wham and Farther Wham come to be given such improbable titles?

When I grew older and began to travel around the country I discovered that my corner of Yorkshire wasn't the only place where strange names abound. A journey by train (from Giggleswick) to Morecambe in Lancashire passed through a place called Bare where there existed, so I was told, a branch of the Women's Institute - yes, the Bare Women's Institute! This national organisation, with branches in most towns, is probably also found in the village of Loose in Kent. In Derbyshire it's possible to live in Hope, Dove Holes and Flash (the villages of), whilst Dorset offers Whitchurch Canonicorum, Gussage St Michael and Plush (with the nearby Scratchy Bottom). However, a strong case can be made for the county of Lincolnshire as the area with greatest number of place-name oddities. Here's a selection of them from the top of my head - Anton's Gout, Ashby Puerorum, Bag Enderby (surely an inspiration to Tolkien), Bicker, Boothby Graffoe, Cowbit, Hop Pole, Pode Hole, Quadring Eaudike, Saracen's Head, Spital in the Street, Swallow, Twenty, Wasp's Nest and Wrangle.

I was reflecting on such things as I cycled to the church of St Michael in the Lincolnshire village of Mavis Enderby the other day. I had recalled a story, possibly apocryphal, that a passing wit, noticing the road sign that said, "To Mavis Enderby and Old Bolingbroke", added the words ", the gift of a son." Above is the photograph of this medieval "greenstone" church that was comprehensively restored in the nineteenth century. A couple of days previously I'd been at Old Bolingbroke, the birthplace of Henry IV in 1367, and so here is a view of its old church (also featuring greenstone) as well.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

click photo to enlargeIt has become the custom for English counties to publicly mark their geographical boundary where it crosses a main road. In the past a simple sign with the county name and the coat of arms was erected. Then, as local government tried to become more "user friendly" the county was prefixed by "Welcome to..." Nowadays most counties have a slogan as well, and in many cases they verge on the ridiculous.

Take Lancashire. A sign saying "Welcome to" (small print), "Lancashire" (big print), and "The Red Rose County" (small print), with an heraldic red rose, was perfectly unexceptionable. It told you which county you'd entered, and reminded you of the symbol that the county has proudly and publicly displayed for centuries. However, the county's elected representatives seem to inhabit a different planet from ordinary folk, and they couldn't see that changing the slogan to,"Where everyone matters", would invite ridicule. It was obvious that removing the well-loved Red Rose symbol would provoke criticism. And it was equally obvious that the new slogan means absolutely nothing: it's an empty, well-meant phrase that is not specific to Lancashire. One wag suggested that Lancastrians must be suppurating people, oozing pus-like matter! Norfolk's slogan is "Nelson's County". Now of all the fine things that I can think of associated with that fine county, Nelson doesn't figure very highly on the list. But, perhaps the sign's an attempt to make a connection between the great English hero and the county, and so raise its profile. Which leads me to the thought that many national heroes would turn in their graves if they saw the use to which later generations put their names. Would John Lennon and Robin Hood appreciate having airports named after them? Perhaps Field Marshall Montgomery would feel somewhat trivialised to be remembered by a duffle coat bearing his name. And Constable would surely have something to say about the number of biscuit tins his "Haywain" has decorated.

Which brings me back to Admiral Nelson and today's photograph of the side of a Bateman's Brewery lorry with an advertisement for "Victory Ale". A bottle of strong beer isn't, perhaps, the most demeaning use of a national hero's name and face, particularly when he's already been immortalised in poetry, with a column (and square), in countless pub names, and has a Lancashire town (indirectly) named after him. The size and colour of this lorry impressed me, and I felt the admiral, the bottles and landscape would make a quirky image when juxtaposed with a real person.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

click photo to enlargeAt the end of last year my CRT monitor died. I'd only had it three or four years and had bought it when it was quite difficult to get hold of anything that wasn't an LCD panel. My purchase raised a few eyebrows amongst people I know, because I'd gone against what was seen as an overwhelming tide placing a better product before us. I wasn't blind to the advantages of LCD monitors - lower power usage, lower emissions, more desk-space released and more screen area for the money were what I was denying myself. So why did I buy a CRT monitor? Quite simply, the image I saw on an "old-style" screen was more like a printed photograph than the image produced by any LCD monitor that I could afford. The slight blurring together of the pixels by a CRT emulated the finish of film and inkjet output very well. And, just as importantly, my eyes saw the same colours all over the screen regardless of how I positioned my head in front of it.

However, you can only hold out so long, and when I came to replace my defunct monitor I had to go for the ubiquitous LCD. I've had it for several months now, and I've got used to the very slight pixellation of images, though I think my purchase is better than many in this respect. But what I haven't got used to, and what drives me nuts sometimes, is the way the colours and contrast change if I position my head slightly lower, higher, to the left or to the right. I have to be much more careful in this respect using my new monitor than I did with the old one, and adjusting colour and contrast is a more fraught task. The other thing I noticed is that the LCD panel is much less forgiving of my processing than the CRT was, revealing sky noise, block pixelation and mask edges that were formerly invisible to my eye. You might think that this is an improvement, and in some ways it is, but most of these things were not visible in the printed output (up to 13in. X 19 in.) so it's less helpful than might be imagined. In all other respects I like my new monitor. But, until designers fix the colour/contrast problem I'm never going to see the LCD as the final display solution for photographers.

Today's photograph is what I call a "bits and pieces" photograph. Any good qualities it has come not from a main subject, but from the several silhouettes and lines spread across the frame. It's a shot for the eye to wander over in much the same way as the people are wandering over Cromer beach. Incidentally, the old tractors (ancient Fordsons) and trailers, that look like sea-creatures that have dragged themselves up onto the beach, are waiting for some of the small inshore fishing boats that work out of this small Norfolk town.

Friday, April 24, 2009

click photo to enlargeThe tulips are in full flower at the moment, and in my garden that means bright patches of red and yellow. My self-imposed challenge over the past few days has been to come up with a different image of these much-photographed blooms. Anyone who has photographed flowers more than casually will know that this is a difficult task.

The variations that you can try are fairly limited - in or out of focus (or elements of both), distant or near, macro, from above or below, in garden or vase, colour or black and white, multiple flower heads or one, in bud, in full bloom or dying, in sun or shade, wide angle or narrower field of view. There may be a few other approaches, but not many.

I've tried pretty much all of those ways and posted quite a few variations, but over the past few days I wasn't coming up with anything especially different. However, there is an unwritten rule of photography that says, "If you can't find what you're looking for, stop looking, then you might see it." And that's what happened.

I drove through my gates quite late in the day as the sun was fairly low in the sky, and saw the light illuminating a patch of red and yellow tulips that were growing under a crab apple tree at the front of the house. Opening leaves and blossom on the branches were starting to throw some shade on the flowers below. The sunlight was striking the blooms from the side after being filtered by a large willow and some conifers. The contrast between the deep shadows and spotlit petals was striking, and the tulips appeared to glow. This is the picture I got. It's not outstanding, but it does differ from my previous attempts, and it's not an approach I've seen used before.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

click photo to enlargeThrowing stones into water used to be one of my favourite past times as a child. Growing up next to a rocky river it just seemed like the natural thing to do. There was something very satisfying about hurling a water-smoothed pebble in a curving arc through the air and watching as it made a splash and concentric ripples that the current swiftly carried away.

To a small boy and his friend a stick thrown into the centre of the flow became a warship and we the artillery that lobbed shell after shell, surrounding the vessel with plumes of spray, or forcing it under the surface with a direct hit, only to see it bob up again. Rocks sticking up out of the river became islands that the ship hid behind, forcing us to increase the angle of our throws to make the pebbles drop steeply from above and drive it out from its cover. A morning's fun could be had for no cost at all. Well, a small cost. One particular resident of the market town in which I grew up would stop as he walked across the nearby footbridge and berate us for throwing stones into the river. Quite what harm he thought we were doing I don't know, but we dutifully stopped, only to re-commence when he was out of sight and earshot.

Standing on the promenade at Cromer watching this small girl throw pebbles into the sea transported me back to those days, and I took this photograph of her endeavours. She was aiming to make big splashes, and succeeded at every attempt. Very satisfying! I used the strong zig-zag of the nearby breakwater to make a composition with the figure, and converted the resulting image to black and white to emphasise the pattern. And, perhaps, to further recall my own time throwing stones in the river in the days when the world was black and white.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

click photo to enlargeSome numbers are more significant than others. For example, 1, 2, 5, 7, 10, 12 and 100 seem to be put to more uses than, say, 9, 14, 17, 34 0r 95. Out of the infinity of numbers, however, a strong case can be made that the number 3 is the most noteworthy.

It has many important numerical properties - the first odd prime number, the first unique prime, the second triangular number (and the first prime triangular). Geometrical space has 3 dimensions (length, width and depth). In Arabic numerals (and the numerals of some other cultures) 3 is one of the few numbers to be represented by a glyph-like symbol directly expressive of the quantity (1 and, sometimes, 2 are the others.) The Christian tradition uses 3 to represents the Trinity (Father, Son and Holy Ghost) and is pictorially represented in many churches. It occurs extensively elsewhere in the religion, for example in the Theological Virtues (Faith, Hope and Charity), the 3 Kings, 3 Patriarchs, Christ's rising on the third day, and Peter's triple denial. Early man, and some cultures, it is said, used the three-pattern idea of "one, two, many", with quantities equal to or greater than 3 denoted as "many". Symbolically the number has been linked to time and space - past, present and future, and beginning, middle and end. I could go on - and am frequently accused of doing so! But, you get the point - 3 is a significant number, though in retrospect probably as strong a case can be made for 10, and possibly 5.

My photograph of three Silver Chamomile (Anthemis punctata ssp. cupaniana) promped today's ramblings. The plant on which they were growing in my friends' garden had many flower heads arranged in no particular order. However, as I circled it on an overcast afternoon, trying for an interesting composition, the alignment of these three appeared in the viewfinder, so I pressed the shutter.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

click photo to enlargeIn English schools pupils are assigned to "houses". These are groupings of pupils in each year group and across the school that are not subject or ability-based as classes often are. Rather they are mixed groupings used for sports competitions and other activities where it is useful for the whole school population to be divided into sub-sets. There are usually four houses and they can be named after almost anything. I've come across the cardinal points of the compass, archbishops, mountains, rivers, saints, and even British army generals. As well as a name each house has a colour, and in most cases these are red, blue, green and yellow.

My primary school (5-11 years) "house" system was the first time I came across the use of this particular set of colours used in combination. As I grew older I came to realise that it is frequently pressed into service where four strong colours are felt to be required. Designers particularly associate these colours with children. Games such as Ludo use them, my son's first two-wheeler bicycle used them, building bricks often feature the combination, play apparatus in public parks is frequently painted red, blue, green and yellow. Occasionally you see a designer make a desperate bid for freedom and use purple, orange, turquoise - anything but these four! But, invariably, the quartet re-assert themselves. Local authorities wanting to give a splash of colour to a building, to street furniture, or to a derelict corner seem drawn to this quartet of colours.

When I was in Cromer, Norfolk, photographing these newly-painted beach huts, it dawned on me how we got to this position. Red, blue, green and yellow have been so frequently used in combination that they've become "standard" and "timeless". Anyone using them knows that people will recognise the combination as of proven quality, and that they are unlikely to provoke any criticism. If, on the other hand, they combine four different colours they run the risk of attracting the public's disaproval. Or they can find themselves using a colour group that is fashionable, and hence one that will date quickly. The truth is, red, blue, green and yellow are a safe set of colours. But here's another truth - I'm fed up of seeing them!

Monday, April 20, 2009

click photo to enlargeBeach huts have become something of a photographic cliche for UK-based snappers. These wooden, low-cost, weekend and summer holiday shacks are making something of a comeback. In the 1970s and 1980s it like they might disappear. However, there has been an increased interest and demand in recent years, and a few new ones have started to appear. The straitened economic times that are upon us will doubtless give them a further fillip as many families forsake the beaches of the Mediterranean for the beautiful, though cooler, coasts of the British Isles.

What is it about beach huts that makes people point their cameras at them? It must be a combination of their bright colours, the unusual and varied nature of their construction, the fact that they are redolent of times past, and the photogenic places in which they are located. I wasn't prepared for this particular group of beach huts at Wells-next-the-Sea, Norfolk, until I went over the sand dune nearest the sea and came upon them. Beach huts superseded bathing machines at the end of the nineteenth century when mixed bathing became more acceptable, and people no longer minded walking across the beach to the sea in their bathing costumes. The examples shown here are some of the oldest in the UK, dating from around 1900, and differ from others I've seen around the coast by being raised on legs and having steps up to a small verandah. I don't know whether any are municipally owned, but judging by the way they have been individualised I'd guess not. Probably most are privately owned, though doubtless some are available for hire.

Given that I described photographs of beach huts as a cliche, why was I taking pictures of them? Well, there's a challenge in producing an image that gets away from the stereotypical series of multi-coloured gable ends (though I have done that one in the past!) There's also the desire to record these distinctive structures. So, with those two points in mind I ended up with this distant shot of the huts backed by the pine trees and holidaymakers as the right foreground interest.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

click photo to enlargeWhen it comes to making photographs I usually have very clear ideas of what I want the outcome to be. In fact I have usually "seen" the image before I raise the camera to my eye. After I've pressed the shutter I "chimp" to check the results, and if necessary, take one or more shots, varying the composition, point of focus, depth of field or exposure (usually using the EV facility), chimping each subsequent image to see if if matches my preconceived idea.

This relatively slow, measured, fairly painstaking method isn't everyone's way of taking photographs, but it suits me. I'd say that 95% of individual shots that I keep are secured in this way. That being the case, what about the other 5%? Well, these tend to be images where I visualise the final image but the camera has other ideas and offers me something that I didn't have in mind - but I like it anyway. Or it's where I take a shot speculatively, thinking to myself, "I wonder what kind of image this will produce". Then there are those where I get it all wrong, but end up with something that pleases me: the image above being a case in point.

On this one I wanted to take a photograph of the mix of fairly lurid colours in a variegated tulip I came across in a local park, and thought I'd try a shot that had the whole bloom in focus. But, I was distracted before I framed the shot, forgot to set the aperture to give me a big depth of field, forgot to set the ISO to 400, and reckoned without a gust of wind moving the flower head as I pressed the shutter. Consequently the image has blur from a shallow depth of field and motion blur. However, photography is one of those visual arts where it's occasionally possible to produce something that you like by accident, and that's what happened here. The image has a certain sticky sweets packed with colouring, sea-side rock, candyfloss, cheap plastic toy sort of charm. Sometimes, it seems, when you get it all wrong you can produce something that is alright.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

click photo to enlargeWhether we know it or not, and whether we like it or not, fine art painting exerts an enormous influence on photography. For someone like me, with a lifelong interest in painting, and education in the history of art, the influence is quite overt. But it exists for most photographers, even if it's at a subliminal level, in terms of their choice of subject, the way they compose images, the colours they choose to use, the effects that they incorporate and apply, and in many other ways. In fact, these influences have become so firmly embedded in photographic practice that their origins are often no longer acknowledged.

I was thinking further about the influence of painting on photography whilst I was processing my image of cockerel feathers. It's the second shot of this subject that I've taken in the past few weeks, though this time it's a different bird (called Henry!). As I looked at the group of curved, orange feathers they reminded me of the freely-applied brush strokes of Jasper Johns and Jack Tworkov. The subject and composition is in the tradition of semi-abstract painting, a style that developed after the invention of photography, and which drew some of its characteristics from the more recent medium, reminding me that the traffic of influences is now in both directions.

Friday, April 17, 2009

click photo to enlargeA newspaper article I read the other day decribed how, when the journalist was standing on a gleaming new London station platform surrounded by shiny high-tech, high speed trains, the eyes of everyone were turned upon an old steam engine that was waiting to take passengers on a mainline pleasure trip. The engine in question was70013 Oliver Cromwell, that was built in 1951 and holds the distinction of being one of the last four steam engines to be used by British Rail before diesel and electric took over entirely in 1968.

Given the relative newness of that particular engine it isn't surprising that it is still in use, hauling rail enthusiasts and the nostalgic on trips around the network. What is more surprising is the age of some of the other engines that undertake this work. The other week, during a few days in Norfolk, I dropped in on the preserved North Norfolk Railway at Sheringham. My introduction to this line was last year when I took this photograph of a C.B. Collett-designed engine of 1924, numbered 5224. On my recent visit I managed to snap the only survivingClass 27 of the Lancashire & Yorkshire Railway, number 1300, that was built in 1896. It was on loan to the Norfolk line, and was busy taking people up and down their scenic route by the sea. This is by no means the oldest working steam engine to be seen in occasional use today, but looking at its functional shape, sturdy build, and gleaming paintwork, not to mention the evocative sound of its smoke and steam, there is no wonder that people retain (or acquire) an affection for these ancient leviathans. When I visited the station the following day a small diesel railcar of 1950s vintage, for all its smooth "modern" charm, was attracting considerably fewer admirers.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

click photo to enlargeOne of the main things that distinguishes the photographs of the enthusiastic amateur (and the professional) from those of the casual snapper is the position of the main subject in the frame. The average person taking a shot of a child, a spouse, the family dog, or their holiday hotel will usually place the focus of their attention in the centre of the composition. It's a natural thing to do because it gives the greatest possible recognition to the subject, and stresses its importance.

Someone whose hobby is photography, or someone who seeks to earn money from their images, will also compose in this way, but will frequently deliberately avoid doing so. Why is this? Well, there' s the desire to avoid the obvious (some would say cliche), and the attendant urge to be "different." There's also the feeling that a centre-dominant composition asks less of the viewer, and doesn't offer as much by way of intellectual stimulation compared with one that positions the main subject elsewhere. And, importantly, there's the creative urge to place the main subject off-centre in a way that links with the rest of the composition. This particular device is one that tests the creativity and ingenuity of the photographer. In summary, it presents the viewer with a visual "problem" (asymmetry) that is brought under control and resolved by the disposition of the other elements of the composition. It's a technique that painters have been familiar with for hundreds of years - look at, for example, Gainsborough's landscapes of trees and fields with a couple of figures, or a few cattle, in a bottom corner giving a nominal subject, a starting point for the viewer's eyes, and compositional balance for his real interest.

Today's photograph is the first I've taken of a surfer, though I did take one of a kite-boarder a couple of years ago. The main subject is placed at the top right, about as far away from the centre as it's possible to be, but is connected to the bottom half of the image by the serpentine lines of the breaking waves. They act as "leading lines" taking the viewer's eye to the surfer, and also, very handily, surround and give emphasis to him. In fact, the photograph is more about the patterns and tones of the water than the surfer, but it doesn't work without him as the indispensable main subject.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

click photo to enlargeI've always liked tulips. As a child I found their distinctive, pointed buds that opened into big, bright, goblet-shaped flowers holding large stamens and anthers, fascinating, and quite different from most of the other flowers that I saw.

As I got older I began to notice that many painters were enchanted by the flower too, some depicting it in its bold, strong upright form, and others in its more languid, drooping, "past its best" condition. The English painter, David Hockney (1937- ), frequently includes the flowers in interiors and portraits. A particular favourite of mine is his portrait of his parents that has a vase of tulips on a green cabinet. In a different style is his lithograph, "Pretty Tulips", where the flowers are drooping down towards the surface of a glass table. The Scottish architect, Charles Rennie Mackintosh (1868-1928), turned to painting in later life, and did some very individual watercolours of flowers, including tulips. His "Yellow Tulips" (c.1922-24) shows the curve of the flowers against an angular, modern-looking backdrop, with their leaves characteristically flopping over the edge of the blue vase that holds them. Seventeenth century Dutch and Flemish painters frequently included tulips in their "bouquet paintings", often giving them prominent positions, especially if they had petals marked attractively by a tulip virus. "Flowers in a Glass Vase" by Ambrosius Bosschaert the Elder (1573-1621) exemplifies this style of painting.

Last year I took a few photographs of my tulips, both in situ, and in a vase. The other day, as the blooms started to show in the garden I thought I'd try for a shot that showed off the thrusting vitality of these flowers as they each seek their share of the space and light above them. A "letterbox crop" seemed to concentrate on and show off these characteristics better than the full-frame shot, so that is how I present the image.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

click photo to enlargeWhen I drive into London down the M11 from the north, my first glimpse of the capital is the cluster of towers at Canary Wharf. As I get closer, off to the right, the tall buildings of the City and the London Eye start to compete for attention. But, my destination being the south bank of the Thames upstream from Canary Wharf, it is this landmark, and particularly the pyramid-topped Canary Wharf Tower (One Canada Square), that acts like a lighthouse guiding me on to the A13, the north bank and the Rotherhithe Tunnel.

Canary Wharf is London's financial district. Ken Allison, in his book London's Contenporary Architecture +, describes it as an "instant Gotham City", and with good reason. Not only has it appeared in a relatively short time, but the overall planning for this area of derelict docks was by Skidmore, Owens and Merrill (SOM), the Chicago-based architectural firm who were responsible for some of the iconic towers of the C20. They also designed several of the lower buildings in the development in a Post-Modern and post-Post-Modern style. However, it is the cluster of tall structures, in particular Canary Wharf Tower, HSBC, and Citigroup that give the place a metropolitan character that is much more of the U.S. than England. The architects of these three buildings - Cesar Pelli and Norman Foster - have produced sleek, but quite bland emblems of global capitalism that impress more in a group than individually.

In fact, at night, or when low cloud wreaths their tops, or when sun burns off early morning fog as in my image, the buildings have a brooding quality that brings to mind some of the more recent Batman films. But, a bright, clear, sunny day reveals them as just another set of opulent, shiny boxes. My photograph was taken last autumn, and is one I overlooked at the time. The indistinct quality of the image, the fog and mist (partly of the buildings' own making), and the way the early sun was falling, has made a photograph that seems to have more than a hint of the Gotham City-on-Thames alluded to by Ken Allinson.

Monday, April 13, 2009

click photo to enlargeThere are many people who question why photo- graphers still work in black and white. "We see the world in colour," they say, "and every camera produces colour images, so why convert them to black and white?" The act of making a black and white image, to those who think this way, is deliberately restricting and reductive; a process that produces less than is possible. It's a perfectly legitimate and serious question, and one that requires more space than my blog pieces to answer fully, but here are a few of my thoughts on the subject.

Early photography was monochrome and its practitioners produced great work, some of which easily stands comparison with that of later years. The ability to make images of great quality in black and white is the only justification that is necessary for its continued use. After the advent of colour, black and white photography began its downward slide, but has never completely gone away. Why is that? Well, many people never saw its "restrictions" as limiting their creativity any more than poets felt restricted by the sonnet form, musicians the rondo, or fine artists, the ink wash: it simply defined the compass of one aspect of the many elements of photography (colour), and allowed the photographer to do anything within that circumscribed area. So black and white photographers composed giving greater weight to tones, shadows, highlights, contrast and line. Subjects that didn't work in colour, due to the combinations within a composition, could be made to work in black and white. Coloured filters could change the balance of tones across an image - a blue summer sky could be made to appear any shade between light grey and black. Photographs of landscapes under the flat light of an overcast sky could be made to work better in black and white than in colour. Depending on the subject black and white (and shades of grey) could be used to give a unique emotional value to a shot. Furthermore, the polar opposites of black and white enabled the making of images of stronger contrast and greater imapct than is usually possible with colour. In our colourful digital age we can still do all of this - so why shouldn't we?

Today's photograph shows rain drops on the fresh, newly opened, dark, glossy brown leaves of a rose bush in my garden. As I wandered round looking for images after the rain had stopped, the deep colour and highlights attracted my attention. The sky was still heavily overcast, but the sheen of these leaves really stood out. I took the shot, hand-held, predicting that the high contrast would translate into black and white very well, and would emphasise the detail of the leaf veins and water drops better than a colour photograph. And so it proved.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

click photo to enlargeThe builders of churches have always been very aware of technological progress and fashion. When a new construction technique was devised - say the pointed arch that allowed wider spaces to be spanned and heavier loads to be carried than the existing rounded arches could manage - it soon spread across Europe as builders capitalised on the advantages that it conferred on their structures. Similarly, in the 1200s stylized foliage was preferred for the capitals of columns in England, but by the 1300s naturalistic carving of recognisable leaves, fruit and animals became the fashion, and held sway for many years. All this was very handy for architectural historians because it made it much easier to discern and describe a sequence of styles down the ages. The Victorians departed from this trend, when from the 1840s they tried to build in a Gothic style that looked authentically medieval. But, by the 1870s this had evolved into a recognisably C19 version of Gothic, and fashion re-asserted itself.

Today, the few new churches that are built are invariably of their time, using modern materials, methods and construction. However, they still usually carry an updated traditional motif or element - pointed windows, towers, fleches, etc - that signals "this is a church." The furnishings of churches vary in the degree of modernity that they exhibit. Where a new room is added inside a medieval building there is usually an attempt to "fit in" with the older fabric, and if it has an external wall a greater effort is generally made. Pulpits, altars and seating often combine a new style with traditional elements, though some progressive churches do commission furnishings with designs that don't draw on historical precedents: today's photograph is one such example. It shows an altar erected in 2005 at St Andrew, Holt, in Norfolk. The building has medieval elements dating back to the C14, but a fire in the C18 and vigorous Victorian restoration has altered the church more than many. Perhaps that made it easier to commission this very modern design when a Chapel of the Holy Sacrament was being established. It's the only altar I've ever seen that is bracketed off a wall. However, the elegant design, simple, but extremely striking lighting, and big flanking candlesticks make a very effective composition.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

click photo to enlargeIt's interesting how the "futurologists" get it wrong isn't it. As a callow youth I remember being told that when I was a man my working day would be shorter as machines removed the drudgery, that we'd all have flying cars, that colonies of people would be living on the moon and nearby planets, that my clothing would be a sort of all-in-one jump-suit, and my food would be a manufactured gloop that contained all the calories and nutrients essential for health. At the dawn of the computer age a sage was heard to pronounce that the UK would never need more than 3 of the machines. Then, when computers were becoming common we were told that offices would become "paperless". It's predictions of this sort that make me think I could be a futurologist.

One of the predictions that I never saw made was that the more we travelled into our future, the more we would cherish what was left of our past. This seems to be a fairly widely held view, at least in the UK. It's also a view that has positive and negative consequences. Let's start with a negative. Ask most people what kind of house they would really like and they'll tell you about some old, romantic looking building, wearing a patina of age, set in a rural idyll. The idea of an energy efficient, modern structure that effectively meets the needs of modern living is the dream of few. On the positive side, this affection for our past means that enough of it is preserved and remains for us to place ourselves in time, and so better understand where we are by where we've come from.

I was thinking about this when I visited the North Norfolk Railway at Sheringham recently. The Victorian station of this preserved railway has been restored and fitted out with original signs, advertisements, luggage, trolleys, weighing scales, etc. The volunteer staff wear old-style uniforms, and all this makes the perfect setting for the steam trains and early diesels that travel over its tracks. Standing on a platform I took this shot of the opposite platform and its adjoining buildings. The overhead glass and metal canopy was filtering the light that fell on the lovingly restored and preserved artefact and people. You'll notice that the two prominent, original, enamel advertisements are for cigarettes. Another thing I never saw predicted about my future was that cigarette smoking would be banned in public buildings, and that's a development that has pleased me mightily.

Friday, April 10, 2009

click photo to enlargeDid you know that 42.379% of statistics are made up on the spot? Really! Including this one! And, although this old joke is a good one, I often wonder if it contains more than a little truth.

A couple of weeks ago I read the results of a survey that said, "only 22 per cent of people we quizzed in Liverpool were able to identify Easter as the day on which Christians celebrate the miraculous resurrection of Jesus Christ following death on the cross." The report went on to lament that many thought Easter was an opportunity to indulge in chocolate, and quoted representatives of Christian churches bemoaning the lack of focus on the teaching of Christianity in schools: "Teachers and curriculum supervisors should take serious note of these findings" one respondent fulminated.

Now, whilst I can appreciate that Easter bunnies, fluffy yellow chicks, chocolate eggs and bonnets do figure in many children's and adults' idea of Easter, I cannot believe that only just over one fifth of people know that the Christian belief in the resurrection of Christ is the reason for this celebration. Especially in Liverpool, for heaven's sake, a city noted for its religious character. The trouble is that today surveys are carried out for reasons other than finding out information. Promoting a brand, creating a headline, instigating a debate, attracting attention, are all reasons that seem to figure larger than finding anything approaching a truth. Surveys are used to confer a spurious authenticity and to mask the real intention. It's very easy to devise a survey that gives you a contentious result, or indeed, the finding that you want. In fact, I wouldn't find it very difficult to produce a survey demonstrating that most people do know the real reason for Easter - all I would need is the power to set the questions.

Today's photograph isn't an example of the barrel distortion of the Zuiko 11-22mm lens, which is very well controlled. It shows an Easter display in the fine bow window of a flower shop at Market Deeping, Lincolnshire. The window itself is probably late C18 or early C19, and lends itself to this sort of thing very well. This establishment always puts on a good display for Christmas, Valentine's Day, Halloween and Easter, and passing by the other day I took this snap of the bunnies, chicks, eggs and sunlit reflected buildings and sky on the other side of the street.

Thursday, April 09, 2009

click photo to enlargeI had an email from a blog visitor the other day. It was quite complimentary about the images and prose, and at one point, in the most polite manner, the writer wondered why I didn't restrict my postings to the best shots that I produce, as is the case with many other photoblogs. I answered the question, but hearing it posed made me think that I should restate what my purpose is in producing PhotoReflect.

Let me say from the outset, that I only post photographs that, in some way or another, satisfy me: I'm the target audience. And so, to that extent, this blog is an entirely selfish exercise. The principle aim is to give my photography a purpose, and in so doing help me to improve. However, PhotoReflect differs from many photoblogs in that it includes an accompanying "reflection" that is an outlet for my thoughts and opinions. I spent much of my working life writing for, and speaking to, one audience or another, and the opportunity to write for me, for a change, seemed a good one. Furthermore, it helps to keeps the old grey (and getting greyer) matter active!

That being the case, the range of photographs I include on this blog is probably wider than is found on most others. I post images that, I think, stand as good photographs regardless of what they depict. But, I also post images that support the accompanying prose; or act as the spark that ignites the text. Consequently some images are posted mainly for the subject that they show. These are typically (though not exclusively) shots that don't make it into my Best of PhotoReflect galleries, and have less of a "Wow!" factor to them. Another reason for the wide range of images is to do with my personality: I'm a dabbler, with an interest in many things, and I like to have a go at many types of photography. So, a still-life might follow a macro, then it will be a landscape, followed by a semi-abstract, then a... well, you get the picture. One of my deeper interests is church architecture, so images of this kind feature fairly regularly too. If you're new to this blog I hope today's post gives you an insight into what it's about. If not, take it at its face value, and if you find something of interest, fine: if not, there's plenty more photoblogs out there.

Today's photograph is one of my church architecture record shots. Any merit that it has lies in it being a well-lit depiction of an interesting subject. It shows Croyland Abbey, Lincolnshire, one of many medieval monastic structures that were deliberately destroyed in the C16 following Henry VIII's break with Rome. The north aisle was left standing to serve as the parish church, and the nave, south tower, chancel and ancillary buildings were stripped of anything of value and the remains left to crumble. Today it makes a tall, eyecatching, sad, though somewhat romantic sight, standing over the surrounding village of Crowland on the flat Fenland landscape.

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

click photo to enlargeI have a love hate relationship with crosswords: I love a good crossword, and I hate a bad one. Now you might be thinking that a bad one is simply one that I'm unable to complete - or even begin. So, let me tell you what I think constitutes a good crossword.

First of all a crossword has to be cryptic. Those with clues such as "Capital of France (5)", are more properly called quizwords, and can't compare with a proper crossword. A good cryptic crossword will have clues that use a variety of types of wordplay including the use of parts of words, puns, homophones, anagrams, double meanings, embedded words, etc. Clues will often try to mislead yet will still, quite fairly, point you to the answer.

The clues in a good cryptic puzzle will make you smile or impress you with the clever way in which they have been constructed: often, when you've been unable to solve the clue and you discover the answer, they will make you say, "Of course!" and then kick yourself. The Times crossword is renowned, though the one I periodically have a go at is the Guardian's. This UK daily newspaper's puzzle has a big following, and is set by a number of compilers, some of whom I get on with better than others. The Daily Telegraph's cryptic crossword is another very good example of the genre: much better than the newspaper in fact!

Today's post title is my rather weak cryptic clue for today's photograph of a flower from my garden. As a cryptic crossword fan I immediately saw the anagram in the name. I'm not sure of the particular variety of this one, but its top petals are purple, the bottom one is yellow with a purple centre, and it's a "whiskered" variety. I used a macro lens to get in close, and aimed to have only a small amount of sharp focus around the "mouth" of the flower.

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

click photo to enlargeI've spoken elsewhere in this blog about High Street as the name of a road. In that post I talked about how it is one of the commonest street names in Britain, how it means "main street", and that a road so titled is usually one of the oldest in a settlement.

A number of consequences flow from these facts. Firstly, being old it is often quite narrow. Even though the properties that line the street may not be the first to be erected in those positions, subsequent dwellings usually followed the same building line. So, unless later generations widened the street to take account of larger, wheeled traffic, and greater numbers using the road, today a High Street is often too narrow to fulfill its function as the main street of a settlement. Many such roads have have been superceded by wider routes where the newer shops and grander dwellings will be found.

Most old, narrow High Streets also suffer the disadvantage of having a sinuous line, which further handicaps them in a world of cars and delivery lorries. Moreover, many of the old buildings that flank such a street don't lend themselves to conversion to the sort of retail properties that are now required. And even if they could be converted conservation regulations (quite rightly) prevent adaptations that fundamentally alter the character of the ancient structures. If you add to these factors the likelihood that the streets adjoining many High Streets are also old and narrow, and suffer the same commercial disadvantages, then you can see that if these streets are not to die new uses have to be found for them. Many towns have done this very successfully. When I lived in Kingston upon Hull the old High Street that comprised commercial properties, Georgian and earlier houses, and warehouses by the river, was turned into a quarter that featured museums, flats, restaurants, cafes, etc.

Today's photograph shows the old High Street at Cromer, a road that fits my description above very well. On the morning I took my photograph it was free of the bustle that characterised the nearby shopping thoroughfares. The filtered sun was coming into the narrow street through recesses, and reflecting off painted buildings giving a very nice quality to the lighting: an almost theatrical, "stage set" effect. A solitary figure seemed to be debating whether to give the King's Head pub a try, and in the background the medieval church of St Peter & St Paul looked down on the scene. The curving line of the road leading to the tower seemed a workable composition so I took this shot.

Monday, April 06, 2009

click photo to enlargeI play the guitar enthusiastically but not very well. Over the years I've played in public a few times, and even taught people to play. I've never written any songs, and those I play and sing come from a wide range of sources - from traditional folk and blues to contemporary (well fairly recent!) rock. When I "do" a song I usually try do it in my own way, varying the treatment, tempo, phrasing, etc. And, though there are a few performers that I particular like and whose songs I sing, I've never felt the desire to focus on just one of them, or to try and emulate their performance in every detail.

Consequently, I have a hard time understanding the appeal of "tribute bands". I'm of the view that if you can't see the original performer, then it's better to hear their songs interpreted by someone rather than have them replicated by an ersatz outfit. My view is probably a minority one because these bands seem to be popular and everywhere, covering all kinds of performers, those still living and those no longer with us. However, whilst I've never been to see a tribute band there is one aspect of the genre that I do rather like, and that's the names they come up with. The Bootleg Beatles is pretty lame, Bjorn Again (Abba) is better, AC/DShe (female AC/DC tribute) is clever, Definitely Might Be (Oasis) leaves you in no doubt about what to expect, and Fred Zeppelin is just wonderfully daft. If you like this sort of thing, there's a pretty extensive list of such bands here.

So, what's the link between tribute bands and today's photograph of the pier at Cromer, Norfolk? Well, whilst I was taking my shot I noticed above the entrance, immediately over the sign advertising "Calamity Jane", another banner promoting Buddy Holly and the Crickets. I commented to my wife that the organisers musn't have heard about the plane crash, but she pointed out to me that I'd mis-read what it said. In fact it was advertising Buddy Holly and the Cricketers. That made me smile. It seemed an appropriately English twist on a tribute band to the early U.S. rockers, and I idly wondered whether they performed in white flannels, jumpers and caps.

Sunday, April 05, 2009

click photo to enlargeWhen it comes to photography are you a gangster or a sniper? Do you handle your camera like a MAC-10, spraying your target at a high rate of fire but with a low degree of accuracy in the hope that at least one shot strikes home? Or do you approach your subject like a soldier equipped with an L115A3, considering each subject long and hard, making sure that every shot you fire will be effective, with few misses?

I ask, because I recently read of an amateur photographer who took 3,000 photographs on a single weekend. 3,000! He was using a DSLR, and what's more each image comprised a RAW file and a medium quality JPG. When I read the forum chatter that ensued I came to the conclusion that quite a few people didn't think this was particularly unusual, though many did question, as I did, why you would approach photography in this way. Let's leave aside the obvious issue of just how much time someone who photographs at this rate is giving to shot selection, composition, lens selection, camera settings, etc., and think about the logistics. How many cards or devices must that fill? How much computer storage space is involved? How much time is devoted to sorting the mountain of dross from the few "keepers"? How much Photoshop time is needed for photography at that rate? And how frequently does he replace his camera? Someone in the discussion poo-pooed the idea that obviously bad shots should be deleted in camera because you might accidentally delete all the shots on the card by mistake. Well you might if you aren't very familiar with your camera, and perhaps someone who shoots at this rate and changes models every couple of months falls into that category.

I spent 4 days away from home recently and took 185 shots. My 4GB card holds 232 images when I shoot RAW+SQ, so I had 47 left, and I was carrying a further 3GB of cards. Leaving aside the family snaps, out of my 185 I garnered only 10 or so that I considered better than average. But I can't believe that if I'd shot 3,000, I'd have maintained that hit rate, and the number would have risen to 162. After reading about this person I think I must be a very sluggish photographer. Or perhaps not. Maybe, like most other people who pursue photography as a hobby, I think a little more before I press the shutter. So, to return to the original question, I'm not a gangster, and probably not a sniper either. Perhaps, as far as photography goes I am like most amateurs - and this is maybe extending the gun-based analogy a step too far! - more akin to one of the "poor bloody infantry" trying to make every shot count with the basic equipment and limited supply of ammunition at their disposal.

Today's photograph comes from a churchyard and shows a magnolia in full bloom. I took three shots of these flowers - one against the deep blue sky, another with a flat area of grass as the background, and this one where I used the shaded side of a yew tree as a dark backdrop against which to show off the shape and subtle colours.

Saturday, April 04, 2009

click photo to enlargeWhere yesterday's image was all about strong, bold colour, hard edges and "in your face" impact, today's is just the opposite. It's a shot taken two days earlier, during my visit to the Norfolk coast, and is soft, with muted colours and more sublety, an image that sidles up to you rather than plants its feet in your way and won't be ignored.

I've said elsewhere in this blog that there's absolutely no chance of my photography moving to the point where I have a "style that is all my own", the point to which the great and good in photography urge us to travel. I've never believed that to be a goal that we have to seek, or that a photographer is necessarily a better practitioner if it happens. But, as I say, for me it's academic anyway because I like to point my camera at anything that comes my way.

Cycling west along the foreshore at Sheringham, the concrete promenade narrowed, then came to an end by a lifeboat building. I walked out onto the shingle to photograph this lonely looking boathouse. I was glad it was there because it gave a point of focus to my composition, a small but definite man-made structure, whose hard white edges contrasted with the cotton-wool clouds, and the earth colours and natural forms of the cliffs, beach and sea. It also gave some visual weight to the left of the image to counter the quite dominant cloud on the right.

The location looks deserted, and it was. However, just out of sight on the cliff tops people in bright checks, unlikely caps, and loud socks scurried about in twos and fours, trying to coax small white balls into tiny holes with "implements ill-adapted for the purpose." Yes, it's the location of Sheringham Golf Club!

Friday, April 03, 2009

click photo to enlargeAs I stood on the shingle at Wells-next-the-Sea in Norfolk, and gazed at this building I reflected that you just can't plan for an English spring. In recent days the weather had been fluctuating between warm and bright, and overcast and chilly, with night-time frosts when the sky was clear. We'd put our fleeces on, then cast them, then put them back on again. Gloves and hats had been necessary at 9.00, but packed away by 10.30. However, on Wednesday afternoon, replete with fish and chips, hazy cloud and RAF Typhoons above, and jacketless in a crisp wind, we walked out to this Royal National Lifeboat Institution (RNLI) station. And, as we did the cloud cleared to reveal the deepest azure blue. It was April 1st, but the blue sky and bright colours made it seem like August 1st.

Brightness and colour like this, after an English winter, seems almost Mediterranean in its intensity, and on that walk a lot of people with cameras seemed driven to record it. However, I appeared to be the only one fixated by this structure that houses the local lifeboats - everyone else was snapping yachts or each other. The building itself was interesting enough: a well-lit, pleasing combination of shapes and colour, with a flag next to it adding a vertical accent. However, it was the two yellow beach markers that really made the arrangement stand out for me. Though only small in the viewfinder, these two points of complementary brightness intensified the deepness of the blue, completed the set of primary colours, and made a contribution that far outweighed their size. So, I walked around and arranged this composition with the building to the left, the markers to the right, a bit of sea for context, plenty of foreground shingle, and just as much blue sky. With any luck I'll be by the coast again when bright colours abound, but, after the turn the weather has taken - cold easterly winds, low cloud, and bits of drizzle - I think that will be in August!

Someone recently drew my attention to the fact that the template I've used for the past few months doesn't display the text correctly in conjunction with a photograph posted in landscape format. This only happens with Internet Explorer. What happens is that it sorts the first few words into lines of one letter each on the right of the photograph until the bottom is reached, after which the formatting is fine.

Being a long-term Firefox user I was blissfully unaware of this. It must have been affecting quite a few people since IE is still the most widely used browser. Consequently I've switched to one of Blogger's default templates that doesn't have this problem. I'm not especially keen on it, but it will have to do until I find a better solution.

AddendumNothing's straightforward is it? The problem I set out to cure is fixed, but a new one is introduced. On this template IE (even with v.8) inserts a big space between the images in a post that has two photographs: Firefox continues to display correctly. More evidence of Microsoft's desire to make the rules of the web rather than follow the internationally agreed standards.

Thursday, April 02, 2009

click photo to enlargeEvery now and then, as my wife and I dig our garden, we turn up pieces of broken clay pipes - the sort with a very long, narrow stem that people filled with tobacco and smoked. So far we have gathered fourteen fragments, all but one being pieces of tubular stem. However, we do have a single bowl decorated with a star (or flower), and scallop shell (or honeysuckle petal) patterns. The design is very distinctive, and research leads me to be fairly sure that it dates from the period between 1790 and 1820.

Did the agricultural workers who threw away these inexpensive, disposable artefacts realise that a future inhabitant of that piece of land would see them as the most tangible connection with their time? Probably not, yet that is just what they are. I read about the history of this part of Lincolnshire, I look at the gravestones in the local church, I reflect on the old buildings, and ponder the landscape that man has moulded for millennia, yet none of these more substantial things touches me like these pieces of clay pipe. Some years ago I read that, should civilisation be swept away, archaeologists of the future will use the layer of cigarette filters thrown away in the second half of the twentieth century as markers for that period of time. On the basis of such insignificant things is our history written.

I reflected on this as I made a black and white conversion of my photograph of the remains of a boat on the beach at Sheringham, Norfolk. Perhaps it was the way it looked like the spine and ribs of a dead animal that drew my attention to it, but it led me to thinking about whose boat it was, why it had foundered there, and how long it had been subject to the twice daily attrition of the tides. Someone, somewhere will know, and will have written at great length about it. But, for as long as the remains lie there, something that we can gaze upon, recognisable for the small wooden boat that it was, it will be a daily, direct and palpable reminder of our past that words will struggle to equal.